


For Your Lover's Lover's Alibi

by Eugara



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Episode Tag, Episode: s10e01 Black, Established Relationship, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2014-10-09
Packaged: 2018-02-20 11:38:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2427302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eugara/pseuds/Eugara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tag to <em>Black</em> (10x01).  “This is Dean’s other <em>other</em> cell.  So you must know what to do.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Your Lover's Lover's Alibi

Click. “First message. Tuesday, June 17th.”

_“Dean? Shit, I didn’t even— I should have called yesterday. Last night, when I first— I’m sorry. I didn’t think, and then Cas… You’re alive, right? Dean, you **have** to be alive. Look, I don’t know if you’ve got your phone with you, but if you get this… We’re looking for you. Me and Cas. Just…call me back, okay? Dean, please call me back.”_

Beep. Click. “Next message. Wednesday, June 18th.”

_“Dean, it’s me. You…you wrote the note, right? It was in your handwriting, but I don’t know what sort of bullshit Crowley’s able to… Where the hell are you, man? Please, **please** call me back. Okay, Dean? Just call me back.”_

Beep. Click. “Next message. Thursday, June 24th.”

 _“So…Cas broke my shoulder.” There’s a bitter huff of breath on the other line. “No, that’s not fair. He didn’t—it wasn’t his fault. He was just trying to stop me, and then the devil’s trap got scuffed… But I **knew**_. _I knew, Dean. That fucking dick had info on Crowley and he wouldn’t tell us— Guess I scared Cas enough that he thought he had to step in. Didn’t turn out so great.” There’s a slight, awkward pause. “Anyway, he feels guilty that he couldn’t fix me up with his mojo. But he did drive me to the ER.” Another muted laugh, more genuine this time. “He actually drove me. Can you picture that? It was probably even more ridiculous than you’re imagining. He’s…” He lets out a sigh. “He’s not in great shape right now, Dean. You remember that grace he took? Well, I guess angels aren’t supposed to do shit like that. It’s weakening him. It’s like he’s…sick or something. Look, just come home, Dean. Please. For Cas, okay?”_

Beep. Click. “Next message. Saturday, June 28th.”

_“Dean, did Crowley— Did he take you? Fucking put a knife to your throat or something? I summoned him, over and over again that night. After Metatron. To get him to save you. I know you said you didn’t want me to, man. But you change your mind a lot.” There’s a pained laugh, like he’s trying to turn it into a joke. “It’s getting kinda hard to keep track. Y’know?” A brief pause. “Look, I wasn’t gonna make a deal or anything. I swear. I was just gonna talk him into it…or **beat** him into it.” A short sigh. “Shit. Who am I kidding, right? Like you wouldn’t have done the exact same thing.” There’s a scrape of wood and the crinkle of paper. “So maybe Crowley **did** show up that night, just not in the dungeon. And he fixed you up and, what? Took you somewhere? Dean, why would you go? …Did he threaten you? Threaten me?  _

_“Or maybe you’re not even with him, huh? Is it the blade? You chasing the fucking dragon, man? It’s that blade and its fucking bloodlust bullshit. You’re probably out there somewhere, slicing up monsters. Chopping off more vampire heads to feed that fucking Mark. …Or maybe it’s not even vampires. Something else?_

_“…You’re not, right? Killing people? Jesus, Dean.” There’s a long pause. “Are you even you anymore?”_

Beep. Click. “Next message. Wednesday, July 2nd.”

_“Cas said you might be dead. That you’re not calling me back because you’re not getting any of my messages. That you can’t even hear them, and I’m just talking into the fucking void.” There’s a rough scrape of metal against cement. “You **can’t** be dead. Goddammit. Do you hear me, Dean? You’re not allowed to be fucking dead.”_

Beep. Click. “Next message. Friday, July 4th.”

_“I called your other cell again today. Left my name and nightmare at the tone.” There’s a bitter chuckle. “Sam Winchester. And my nightmare is that my brother is gone without a goddamn trace._

_“I kept calling it, to listen to your voicemail. God, how fucking pathetic is that? It took me friggin’ forever to realize it was ringing inside the bunker. In that shoebox with all the spare burners. So, okay. You don’t have that one on you because it’s here, but this one— I checked, Dean. I called this number and let it ring and walked through every goddamn inch of this place and I couldn’t hear it anywhere. Which means you **have** to have this one on you. You have to. Which means that you’re getting these. Dean, why aren’t you getting these?”_

Beep. Click. “Next message. Friday, July 4th.”

_“Crowley? Is this you, you son of a bitch? Are you getting any of these messages, fucker? I’m gonna kill you, Crowley. I’m gonna find you and chop you into little Limey **bits** and fucking **feed** them to you. I’ve taken on **archangels** , asshole, you think I can’t take you? A poncy, stuffed shirt, little bureaucrat? You’re gonna be a greasy stain on the sidewalk by the time I’m done with you. I’m coming for you, you pathetic waste of a suit. And if my brother isn’t one hundred percent okay, then I’m not even gonna kill you. I’m gonna make you **wish** for death. You think I haven’t learned a thing or two? Lucifer’s a great teacher, Crowley. And I’m gonna **show** you—hands on—very first chance I get.”_

Beep. Click. “Next message. Sunday, July 6th.”

_“I’m gonna kick your ass, Dean.” His tone is wry, more exhausted than angry. “The second we get through this. I swear to god. I don’t even **know** yet how you’re gonna make it up to me, but it’s gonna have to be epic. Trust me. Think **huge**. …Like no more girls or something.” There’s a long, clumsy silence. “That was a joke. I know you wouldn’t— …It’s a joke, man. That’s all it is.”_

Beep. Click. “Next message. Tuesday, July 8th.”

_“I miss y’r cock.” There’s a high, rambling giggle and a clink of glass against wood. “M'ss most of you. But your cock espeshially. That was a good part ‘f you. I tried—” A wet swallow, then another clink of glass. “I tried usin’ my hands, y’know? But s’not the same. Doesn’t feel like it’s s’posed to. Doesn’ even feel like… Your hands‘re better. But y’already know that._

_“You r’member when we tried to have phone sex? You were on your way to Garth’s boat, to visit Kevin. An’ you called me, rememb’r?” Another giggle, followed by a slosh of liquid. “I gotta come clean, man. I wasn’t really into it. All that ‘now I’m caressing yer neck’ stuff. I was actually—s’actually lookin’ through a book ‘nstead while we were doin’ it. Cat—cater… **cataloguing** , tha’s the word. Fer the system, my—y’know—my **system**.  _

_“…But I get it now. I miss you.” The strained creak of a chair underscores the moment. “I want you in me. C’mon, Dean. S’jus’ like before. ‘Now I’m caressing yer neck,’ an’ you say, ‘I’m kissin’ you, Sammy.’ Tha’s what you’re s’posed to say.” Another pull from the bottle, glass clinking against teeth. “ **God** , I want you. Want you to fuck me, Dean. Slow. An’ don’t ever stop. We could jus’ keep fucking forever. Wan’ yer tongue in me…_

_There’s the harsh sound of a zipper being undone. “Or maybe I’d fuck **you** , huh? Slam you up agains’ the nearest wall. Make you take it.” The slick sound of flesh on flesh. “Wouldn’ even prep you. Jus’ shove my cock in you dry. An’ you’d take it good. You always take it so good.” A pained groan. “S’punishment. Grab y’r wrists in my hand, fuck you up agains’ a wall. Hard.” The slick sound gets faster. “S’what you get, Dean. Fer doin’ this to me. Fer leavin’ like that.” He’s breathing hard now, almost panting. “M’gonna hurt you like you hurt me. Hurt you the way you like it. Make you take it.” He moans again. “Fuck you ‘til you can’t walk. ‘Till you can’t get away again. An’ you hafta stay. ‘Till you hafta **stay** with me." There’s a strangled cry and the wet sound of spunk against skin. Then, quiet breathing again. “Dean, I… Shit—”_

Beep. Click. “Next message. Friday, July 11th.”

_“I’m sorry, Dean. If it’s something that I did…then I’m sorry. I swore I wasn’t gonna let you down again. You remember that? Those fucking **vows** in that church. And now… Well, guess it’s not too surprising, right? That I fucked up again. That I let you down, **again**.  _

_“Look, is this about the Gadreel thing? Or Kevin? ‘Cause I’m over it, okay? I’m not mad anymore.” The sound of bitter laughter. “Shit. That’s not true. I’m fucking **pissed**. You apologized, and then you decked me unconscious, you asshole._

_“…I don’t know. I guess it’s kinda even now, right? Guess it’s pretty much what I deserve after Ruby and the blood and all the soulless shit and—and Purgatory…”_

Beep. Click. “Next message. Friday, July 11th.”

_“No, you know what? Fuck you! Fuck you, Dean. You let **me** down. You were the asshole who let fucking Gadreel into my fucking body. And then you ran off with **Crowley** to go get yourself tatted up like an idiot because you **left** me. You wanted to throw yourself a damn pity party instead of apologizing like a goddamn **adult**. And I don’t deserve that, okay, Dean? I **don’t**._

_“Dammit! This whole fucking thing would never have happened if I was there! I wouldn’t have let you do that. I wouldn’t have let you throw yourself over to whatever demon felt like using you this month.” There’s a crackling sound, like he’s gripping the phone too hard. “Or maybe you knew that, huh? Maybe that’s why you went off on your own. Didn’t want me spoiling your little guys' night with Crowley and Cain. Fuck you, Dean. You don’t wanna come back? Fine. Then **don’t**.”_

Beep. Click. “Next message. Friday, July 11th.”

_“…I’m sorry, Dean. I didn’t mean it. I’m— I’m sorry.”_

Beep. Click. “Next message. Wednesday, July 16th.”

_“I tried to kill myself you know.” The words are quiet, barely even a whisper. “Back after Dick Roman. When I hit Riot—when I hit that dog. I never told you. God, I thought you’d be so furious. Or you’d think I was pathetic. **Weak**. Poor, little Sammy. Just falls apart without his big brother to take care of him. Broken and useless.”  He lets out a pained sigh. “You’d have put me on full lockdown before I could’ve even blinked. And I didn’t want that. But I just… I couldn’t, Dean. I missed you so much and I couldn’t **breathe** and I just thought that if— If I could see you again. Even if it was just—shit.” There’s a long pause, nothing but the muted sound of breathing on the other line. “…Do suicides go to Hell?”_

Beep. Click. “Next message. Saturday, July 26th.”

_The next sixteen messages are—in order—a summarized play-by-play of Raiders of the Lost Ark playing on the television in the background._

Beep. Click. “Next message. Monday, July 28th.”

_“I love you. I know we’re not—” There’s a sharp exhale of breath. “I know you don’t like it when I say it. But…I do. I love you. And I’m gonna find you. I love you, Dean. And if you want me to shut my trap, you’re gonna have to come home and make me. Just—please. Come home._

_“Or you don’t even have to, okay? If you don’t want to. You never have to see me ever again, Dean. I’ll leave you alone forever, just…call me back. That’s all I’m asking. Just call me back. **Please**.”_

Beep. Click. “End of messages. To save all messages, press 1. To delete all messages, press 2. If you’d like to hear more options, press 3.

“You have pressed 2. Would you like to delete all messages?

“Messages deleted.”

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Blondie's "Call Me"


End file.
